A Sudden Witch
by Raven Aorla
Summary: Tiffany Aching is minding her own business when a teenage witch appears in her dairy shed. Usually this sort of thing only happens to wizards, but this 'Hermione' needs some counseling and a lesson in what witchcraft really is about. PostWintersmith.
1. A Dairy Shed Apparition

Tiffany had her own cottage now, with a dairy shed. Even though people were happy to give her cheeses, she still enjoyed making her own, especially with one of them mumbling around her feet. Harold seemed to be in a good mood, inasmuch as a sentient blue cheese can have a mood. The Feegles were spying unobtrusively, and she had plenty of firewood for tonight's snowstorm. All was well on the Disc –

THUD. "Ahh!"

Spinning around, Tiffany saw a girl slightly older than she was huddled against the corner, where no one had been before. Odd, things like that usually happened up in the Ramtops, not here. She rushed over to her side.

The girl wore some kind of black robe, with long, frizzy brown hair. The girl, not the robe. Everything appeared covered in blood, mud, and sweat, like she had been through a forest of thorns amidst rain. Her face was so drawn, it could have been something done by Leonard da Quirm in his anatomy sketches.

"It would be silly to ask you if you are all right, because in my experience sudden apparitions are not all right, but how may I help you?" Tiffany knelt by her and felt her forehead, which burned to the touch.

"Idiot…mispronouncing spells…broken wand…Ron's fault…Mother! Father!" With such mutterings accomplished, the girl opened her eyes a fraction. "Where?"

"This is the Chalk. I am the witch of the Chalk Downs." Tiffany said this with an element of pride, since no witch before her would have dared to say so openly. "Considering that you're speaking in disconnected phrases, I would guess that you're disoriented."

The girl simply groaned.

"Tell me where it hurts." The girl made no reply, so Tiffany clenched her teeth and entered her mind. How very strange! She read something about a battle, and people using wands for magic as if they were fairy godmothers, and torture. When Tiffany emerged, she saw no marks on the girl and no breaks in the skin. What kind of physical torment left no signs?

She took the girl's pain and made it into a little ball, placing in her pocket, just as Granny Weatherwax taught her. Instantly, the girl's eyes opened again, and she sat up. "What happened?" she asked.

"First things first. What's your name? Are you hungry? If you're in need of highly nourishing yogurt, I have that available."

"Hermione Granger. Where am I?" Hermione's gaze took in the stacks of wrapped cheeses, the churn, and the window. "I think there's a little blue man looking at us, but I might be hallucinating."

"Oh, them." Tiffany looked over her shoulder, and put her hands on her hips. "Is it Daft Wullie or No'-as-big-as-Medium-Jock-but-bigger-than-Wee-Jock Jock? I know you're watching me on rotation."

"Ach, no, it be the hands on the hips! And the pursin' o' the lips!" The speaker had enough heavy Glaswegian accent for several full-grown humans.

"It'll be the 'tappin' o' the feets' if you don't show yourselves," Tifanny threatened.

Hermione groaned. "I think I'm in a coma. Hey, I don't hurt anymore."

"I took your pain away."

"Are you a witch, too?"

"The pointy hat would indicate it – what do you mean, 'too'?"

"I'm a witch." Hermione looked around her. "But where's my wand? I lost my wand!"

"That's what this stick was? It doesn't look like a wand. It doesn't have a star or mystic runes or anything. Feegles, I'm waiting!" Tiffany handed her the wand that had rolled across the floor.

A tiny blue blur scooted over and tugged on the edge of Tiffany's skirt. "It's me, hag." Rob Anybody stopped picking his teeth and removed some grass from his beard, which for a Feegle was extremely formal and courtly. "Who's this bigjob? Is she a hag, belikes?"

"She says she is. Listen, I know you're in contact with the Long Lake Clan."

"Ah, them's those with t'verra comp-li-cated documents. I can read them noo, at least the farst sentence. I been practicin'." Rob Anybody waited for applause.

"I appreciate it," Tiffany said. "Could you tell the Long Lake Clan to tell Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg that a new witch has appeared, and I may need to see them about it?"

"We'll do it oursel's. Nothin's too good for our former kelda."

"Thanks. You may take one of Mr. Niles' sheep, and I will answer for it. One of his sheep had triplets last year, and I had to untangle all of them, and he didn't give me anything in exchange."

Rob Anybody grinned. "I would'na suppose ye'll have any o' that Sheep's Liniment?"

"No," Tiffany responded. Rob Anybody sped away.

"I don't believe this," Hermione sighed.

"The Nac Mac Feegle are all right when you understand them. Let's leave the shed and go into my cottage, and we can sort things out. Don't put your hand in your pocket, because it will be unpleasant if you do."

Her cottage pleased Tiffany. Roland wanted to build her one made of stone, at the very least, but she said she wouldn't have one until ever other person on the Chalk had one, too. It only had one room, but that room had her paintings on the wall, a rocking chair, and ordinary chair, a cozy fireplace, some pots and pans for cooking, and even a few books beside her little bed.

Hermione must not have seen it that way, because she said, "I'm sorry to impose anything. I understand if you can't spare much."

"I'm a witch. It's my job to help people. Would you prefer the rocker or the standing chair?"

"Standing, please. I feel sort of sick. Where am I again?" Hermione rubbed her temples.

"I told you, you're on the Chalk. Where were you before?" Tiffany brought out the kettle and set it over the fire to brew. She knew Margrat Garlick used to make all the tea for Granny and Nanny, which seemed funny when she thought of her as the Queen of Lancre now. Queen Magrat was sending her letters about how to make the transition from witch to royalty, though Tiffany thought if Roland didn't want her to stay a witch, he could go back to the Underworld.

"Where is the Chalk?"

"Hubward and downhill of the Ramtops, on the Continent, widdershins of Ankh-Morpork. It's all sheep around here, along with the Nac Mac Feegle. Where were you, again?"

Hermione hugged herself, and her voice shook. "This is all gibberish to me. I was in England."

"I know the geography of the Disc, and there is no land of Eng, unless it's on the continent of XXXX, which nobody knows about except the people there."

"Great. Just great." Her words came in liquid spurts now. "Ron and I were fighting the Death Eaters. They killed my parents, and they were going to kill me, and I meant to do a nonverbal spell, but I couldn't think about anything except how I wanted to be anywhere but there, and I must have Disapparated wrong."

"The spell did work," Tiffany pointed out, puzzling over the new word, which Dr. Sensibility Bustle failed to translate for her. He must have not known it either. "You weren't specific enough. That always happens if you're not specific enough. What were your exact thoughts? Care for some tea? It's a cold afternoon."

Hermione nodded. "I haven't eaten anything for a while. My thoughts were 'I need to be in a better place. The world is torn up by this war, and I can't take it anymore.'"

"This is about as peaceful as anywhere gets." Tiffany handed her a chipped mug. "We only fear the weather. Nobody wants to steal from us, because all we have is sheep."

"My parents are dead," Hermione repeated, hollowly. She sipped. "Your tea…"

"I'm not very good at making it. I make cheeses well, though. Speaking of cheeses…" Tiffany heard a knocking sound at the door and opened it. "Harold! Aren't you with the Feegles now?"

"Hnr hnr hnr," said Harold, crouching in his bit of tartan cloth.

"Well, all right. Don't come too near the fire, or you'll be melted sentient cheese, which would be a terrible thing, and very confusing." Tiffany let him in and came back to Hermione. "A lot of witches have another job, too, and I'm a dairymaid. One day my jobs got mixed, and I ended up with Harold."

"It's alive," Hermione pointed out.

"He is. I think of Harold as a 'he'. I'm sorry about your parents. It must feel terrible to not be there to sit up with their bodies."

"What?"

"You don't have that tradition? That's one of the witches' duties here, to watch over the dying and lay out the dead."

"You mean you let everybody know you're a witch?"

"Everybody needs witches. In the cities you have doctors, midwives, veterinarians, lawyers, therapists, and judges, but here you need witches."

Hermione pondered this. "Where I come from, we don't let people who don't have magic know about the people who do."

"If they would kill you for it, that makes sense." Tiffany sat down with her mug of tea and Harold jumped into her lap, still making 'hnr hnr' noises.

"They wouldn't believe it, and if they did, they'd be bothering us all the time."

A hard look entered Tiffany's usual intelligent, kind face. "How very selfish!"


	2. A New Perspective

Tiffany took a long sip of tea. "So there is a war going on, where you came from?"

"Yes. I'd rather not talk about it." Lying on Tiffany's bed, Hermione hugged her knees, staring into space. "In my world, some witches and wizards are descended from other witches and wizards, but others are born to nonmagical families. My parents aren't – weren't – magical, so they call me a Mudblood. Our enemy hates Mudbloods, and especially me, because my friend is prophesied to either kill him or be killed by him."

"Care for a biscuit?" Tiffany handed her a tin. They had been talking for quite a while now, and she was still trying to figure out what to do with this refugee. However, a large part of being a witch was knowing how to take care of people.

"I'm still feeling sick. Torture will do that to you."

"You've been tortured? Where?"

"There's a curse of pain that leaves no scars."

The idea made Tiffany wince. She poked the fire for a while, hoping to see something helpful in the embers. All she saw were lambs. Then –

"Two girls together, feeding the lambs," Tiffany mumbled.

"What?" Hermione yawned. "What are you going to do with me?"

"We're going to see Granny Weatherwax tomorrow."

"Is she a head witch?"

Tiffany chuckled. "Witches on the Disc don't have leaders. She's just the best witch around."

"Is she nice?"

"No. She's good, though. Tell me more about yourself."

Hermione talked about adventures and school, a real school like the people in the city went to. A school in a castle! Tiffany could hardly imagine it. She'd been to Lancre Castle, and she had spent most of the time gaping. Hermione didn't seem to have many friends. Just two, really, and both boys. She talked about those for a while.

"It sounds to me," Tiffany cautiously commented, "that this 'Harry Potter' is taking all the credit for your efforts."

Hermione frowned. "No, no! He's a hero."

"Mm hmm. Are you sure? When I saved Roland from the Queen of the Fairies, everyone refused to believe it and thought he saved me, just because I'm a girl. I don't know what they thought he was doing for the years he was missing. We've been friends since, though. Let people believe what they want, as long as the two of us know what is going on." She paused and patted Hermione's hand. "I just need to make sure that you know what is going on."

"You have it all wrong…"

Tiffany put down her mug and ticked off the points with her fingers. "The first year you knew him, it was only you who knew how to solve the logic puzzle. It was only you who could find the name of the alchemist. The only thing that saved him when he was on his own was the love his dying mother left him, and that was not his doing. He was just lucky."

Hermione began to look dismayed.

Tiffany continued with the air of someone picking apart a knot. "The second year you knew him, you were the one who figured out where the basilisk lurked. The third year, you possessed the Time Turner that saved Sirius Black and the hippogriff. You figured out that your professor was a werewolf. He managed, what, one spell? In later years, he managed things better, but mostly by sheer luck and recklessness."

"Courage!"

"Stupidity."

With a long sigh, Hermione closed her eyes and threw her hands up in the air. "Fine! Fine! Yeah, I resent it. He gets to be the Chosen One, and I'm the sidekick. He's had a horrible life, though."

"I understand that. It is commendable that you helped him for so long. But I think it might be time for you to be your own woman. Doing real witches' work."

"What?"

Tiffany did a double take. "I didn't mean to say that. It sort of slipped out."

_It would be nice to have an assistant – or…_said her Second Thoughts.

_Someone intelligent to talk to. The Feegles are dears, but they accomplish things by hitting them with their heads, _her Third Thoughts continued.

"Can I see your magic? Do you think you have the strength?"

Hermione fished out her wand and fiddled with it. "I could try something simple. _Lumos." _

The wand lit up.

Tiffany nodded in approval. "Should you wish to stay, you could probably be very useful."

"I can lift things."

"Such as?"

"That cheese, Harold –"

"You heard me wrong; his name is Horace."

"Oh, okay." Hermione pointed her wand at Horace, who was sleeping at Tiffany's feet. "_Wingardium Leviosa." _

Without waking up, Horace floated up past Tiffany's head.

"Ooh, that could be very helpful. Do you think you want to stay here? We're always on the lookout for new witches."

"I need to go home."

"Really? What do you have there? Your friends?"

"I don't know if they're alive." Hermione yawned. "I think I should sleep on it. Do you want me on the floor?"

"No, you're all battered. I'll sleep in the chair tonight."

Oddly enough, they were both thinking the same thoughts as they fell asleep. _It's nice to talk to a smart girl my age, for once. I could get used to this._


	3. A Different Way of Living

"Miss Tiffany, Miss Tiffany," the little boy called from the door. Tiffany wrapped herself in a green tartan shawl – a gift from the current Feegle kelda, who had spent eight months weaving it with tiny fingers – and opened it.

"Don't pick your nose, Joey," she remarked out of habit. "What's wrong?"

The ragamuffin stuttered, "It's Mam, miss. She's started early."

"What's going on?" Hermione asked, rising sleepily.

"Hold on just a moment, Joey. I need my herbs." Tiffany grabbed a scone to eat on the way there as well. "I'm delivering a baby. Care to come along?"

"But you're just a girl!" Hermione protested, following her because she didn't know what else to do.

"So are you, and look what you've accomplished. How far apart are the contractions?"

Joey looked confused. "What's a 'contraction'?"

"How many minutes is it between her crying out, then?"

"Ten minutes."

"Hnr hnr hnr," Horace mumbled, stumbling after Hermione.

Tiffany stopped and grabbed her head. "I forgot my hat."

"I can help you with that, at least." Hermione pointed her wand back towards Tiffany's cottage. "_Accio_ Tiffany's hat."

"We really need to sit down and discuss all that you can do," Tiffany said, beaming at her when she stuffed her hat on. "Now, to business."

Hermione had never been present at a birth before, and it was a terrifying, disgusting business. Tiffany had her hold Goody Vera's hand, and she improvised by conjuring water for the woman to drink and to mop her brow. The baby clutched at Hermione's finger, and she felt warmth shoot up her arm.

They had barely returned to the cottage when a man dragged them off to help a shepherd pinned under a fallen rock. Hermione levitated and moved the rock, and Tiffany put a poultice on the man's injury.

Then a sheep was choking on a thistle. Tiffany held the sheep while Hermione Transfigured the thistle into some soft grass.

The girls were tired and sore as they trudged through the village back to Tiffany's cottage, and Hermione was astonished and gratified when a woman ran out of her house and presented them with a blueberry pie. "I realized I had one pie left over, and then I saw our witch passing by. Isn't that a lovely coincidence? And do you need any blankets? The nights are still pretty chilly."

"Thank you very much, Ma'am. I could use an old pair of boots, now that you mention it, but the Chalk will provide." Tiffany accepted the pie with a smile.

The grandmotherly lady noticed Hermione and curtseyed. "Is this a new witch? You'll have to come over for dinner tomorrow night and introduce yourself. We'll be having shepherd's pie, and mincemeat pie, and chicken pie…"

"She likes making pie," Tiffany whispered.

"I gathered," Hermione whispered back. "I don't really know how long I'm staying, but thank you."

As they ate the pie, a Feegle popped under the door. "Hags, Granny Weatherwax be unable to come 'till Tuesday."

"Can you wait until then?" Tiffany asked Hermione.

"I suppose…" Then she thought of the devastation she had left, the peace here, the thrill of saving lives, and the Muggles and witches being one people. "She…she can wait till Friday."

"Shall I tell her that then?" the little blue man in the kilt asked.

"Maybe till Sunday."

Tiffany's eyes met hers, and they smiled. Hermione finally said, "You know, she's probably very busy."

"That she is," Tiffany remarked.

"Let her decide, then." Hermione poked the fire, and absorbed the coziness and safety of this new home…place…home?

The other witch patted her back in understanding. "I think you already have."


End file.
